


Of Various Storms and Saints

by fledisthatmusic



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Kidnapping, M/M, Separated Lovers Trope, Temporary Character Death, mentions of human trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26483065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fledisthatmusic/pseuds/fledisthatmusic
Summary: When Nicky wakes, startled and confused, he is alone.There’s a lot of blood on his face, on his hands, down the front of his shirt. Two smashed bullets clink to the pavement when he sits up.Joe is nowhere to be seen.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 26
Kudos: 355





	Of Various Storms and Saints

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've shared publicly in a very, very long time. I just want this trope to be injected into my veins.
> 
> Massive thanks to [ Armourwolf ](http://armourwolf.tumblr.com/) for beta reading and always being the best kind of cheerleader. I did go off the rails close to the end and slam this motherfucker into Ao3 like an overdue term paper, so that's on me. Special thanks to [ Always-accept-the-image ](http://always-accept-the-image.tumblr.com) for putting up with my shit and not complaining when I needed help with gun questions (you are my moon when I'm lost in darkness, in case you didn't know).

When Nicky wakes, startled and confused, he is alone. 

There’s a lot of blood on his face, on his hands, down the front of his shirt. Two smashed bullets clink to the pavement when he sits up. It’s dark, but he can smell the sickly sweet rot of a dumpster nearby. Somewhere to his left, a car with loud music bumping from its open windows whooshes by, but it’s gone in a second.

An alley, but where? Nicky groans a little and pushes to his feet, smearing the sticky blood away from his eyes. Brazil, he remembers. Salvador. It comes back slowly as his brain heals. 

He and Joe had been walking back from a night out - a live theatre performance, something local - and they’d been ambushed. A group of men with guns, militia training. They’d shot Nicky after a short scuffle. 

Nicky casts a quick look around the alley, and his heart drops into his stomach.

Joe’s nowhere to be seen.

“Joe?” he calls, rushing to the mouth of the alley. He doesn’t want to be seen; their ambushers could still be close, but also passersby don’t need to see him drenched in blood.

There are black tire tracks on the edge of the sidewalk, and he can still smell the burnt rubber. He wasn’t dead for long. The attackers - the abductors - don’t have that much of a head start, but he can’t pursue like this. He isn’t even armed. 

He needs help. 

“They took Joe,” he says into the phone before Andy’s even had a chance to fully answer. “We were attacked. I don’t know who, but they headed west.”

“On it,” she answers curtly. “Where are you?”

Nicky gives her a close address, just a few blocks from where they are staying, and she says she and Nile will pick him up soon.

“Bring my sword,” he adds.

“We’ll get him back,” Andy promises. “Just wait for us.”

Nicky has always been considered the patient one, but that’s only relative to the other members of the group. He paces from one end of the alley to the other until the little white car pulls up to the curb. Nicky slides into the backseat, and Nile, mid-conversation with someone on a Bluetooth headset, hands him a clean shirt and a pack of baby wipes.

“Copley’s got surveillance footage from the area, but there’s a hole where you were nabbed. Do you know what the vehicle looked like?” Andy asks, eyes piercing in the rearview mirror. 

Nicky strips out of his bloodstained clothes and tries to think. It hadn’t drawn their attention, so it wasn’t anything military. He hears Joe tease him about his rusty Portuguese, sees the corners of Joe’s eyes crinkle as he smiles and hugs Nicky to his side. The street had been almost deserted, a strange lull between large groups, and they had been absorbed in each other.

“A delivery truck,” Nicky says suddenly. “With, ah, a yellow design. Like...a feather?”

Nile repeats that into her headset and swipes her fingers across the tablet in her lap.

“It’s gonna be okay, Nicky,” Andy tells him as she pulls back into traffic. She drives west, waiting for more information from Nile. 

Nicky has faith, but it doesn’t stop the freezing rage that’s seeping into his chest.

Joe would laugh at him at the thought, but they both know: Joe’s anger is white hot, blazing out of control with a strong breeze; Nicky’s is icy, slow, all-consuming and nearly unstoppable.

“Found ‘em. They’ve made a couple of sharp turns,” Nile reports, eyes glued to the GPS on her screen. “Looks like they’re heading southeast.”

Andy makes an abrupt turn down a sidestreet, and it’s a testament to how well Nile has adjusted to her new life that she doesn’t even look up or grab for a handhold. Nicky braces his arm on the back of her seat and leans up to see what she’s seeing on her tablet. They’re not close, and there’s a lot of traffic between them and their target.

His fingers dig into the upholstery, and Nile starts to give Andy methodical directions to avoid busy areas. Nicky realizes after a minute that she’s not just following the truck; she’s trying to head them off.

“Where do you think they’re going?” he asks. 

Nile hesitates now. “I’m not sure. I thought they were going out of the city, but now...it might be the port.”

“The port?” Andy repeats, brow furrowed. She glances back at Nicky. “You sure you don’t have any idea who these guys are?”

“We’ve made a lot of enemies, Andy, no matter how hard we try to disappear,” Nicky answers sharply. “They may know us, but I did not get a good look before they shot me in the eye.” 

“Fair,” she concedes, taking another street at Nile’s steady direction.

“The last time we were in Salvador,” Nicky says after a moment, “was during your sabbatical. We stopped some drug runners, just me and Joe. They were using sex workers as mules during Carnival. I didn’t think we left any alive.”

“If these are the same guys, why kill you but take Joe?” Nile asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Joe doesn’t cover his face.” Andy’s eyes flick up to the mirror again.

Nicky only raises one eyebrow in question. 

“You did a job during Carnival? There are cameras everywhere. You usually have a hoodie or a mask. I’d bet a lot of money that somebody got a good shot of Joe’s face, and whoever’s left of that organization saw him when we got into town.”

“They’re gonna figure out real quick that he can’t die,” Nile points out quietly.

Nicky drags a hand down his face, still tacky from the baby wipes. “It doesn’t matter. There won’t be any left this time.”

Nile glances up at him, her eyes traveling the slope of his clenched jaw, and she only nods.

Their fears are confirmed. Nile directs Andy around a traffic snag, down an exit ramp, and directly to the massive chain link fence that separates the rest of the city from the docks. This isn’t the main port, though. This is almost like a backdoor, a shady locale that probably sees more industrial cargo than imports or tourists. A guard shack stands beside a set of massive iron gates, and a spotlight slowly sweeps across the shipyard. 

Andy finds a secluded area to stash the car between two empty, graffitied warehouses. The air is heavy with ocean salt and rust. Nicky pops the trunk and hesitates, his hand wavering between his rifle case and his sword.

“We can’t barrel in the front,” Andy says, pressing one hand to his shoulder. “We need eyes on Joe, or at least the guys who took him.”

Nicky wants to shove her, but he would never. The longer they stand here, the longer he is separated from Joe, the more the tension coils in his body. He wants to tear through the fence and cut the throat of everyone between him and Joe. He wants to hear them scream, wants to feel his blade carve through their bodies and move onto the next before they hit the ground. He wants to touch Joe’s face and taste his kiss and know he’s safe.

But Nicky only nods and shoulders his rifle bag. Nile and Andy holster pistols and flank him as he finds a ladder on the outside of one of the warehouses. The roof isn’t really high enough, but it’s the best he has.

The docks are murky green and black through the night vision scope, cut through with blinding white when the spotlight skims past. He counts four people besides the man in the guard shack, all walking a fairly regular pattern through the shipping containers and small buildings.

It would be so easy. Five pops, five down. Nicky knows he could do it without alerting anyone. He blows out a breath, feeling his body settle into that familiar stillness. His finger tightens on the trigger, but just as he’s made the decision to fire, his would-be target answers a radio call and dashes in the opposite direction.

Nicky sits up. Something has changed. All four of the perimeter guards are running toward something, but without a higher vantage point, it’s difficult to say what. He settles back, dials in the scope, and does another sweep.

There’s movement further out, near one of the massive, empty freighter ships nestled into the dock. Quite a lot of movement, really, for nearly midnight. Then a vehicle moves, and Nicky can see the outline of a delivery truck parked next to one of the low buildings.

The shot on the security guard isn’t as clean as he’d like, but he’s in a hurry. Either way, the man drops silently. Nicky doesn’t even bother breaking down his gun. He grabs everything, jumps from the roof, and feels the sharp, lancing crack of his legs breaking on the landing.

“Shit!” Nile startles, gun half-raised.

“They’ve got him on a ship,” Nicky says through gritted teeth. He’s already moving, bones knitting before he even reaches the car. Pain is trivial. The rifle goes back in the trunk, the sword and one of Joe’s knives go on his belt, and he grabs an HK416 for good measure. Andy doesn’t question him. She wears a vaguely haunted expression as she gears up, and Nicky knows she won’t leave Joe behind.

With all of the perimeter guards otherwise occupied, it’s easy to find a dark section of fence to cut. Andy takes point, but Nicky and Nile are tight on her heels. They make it almost to the ship, skirting the edge of the lights, before they encounter anyone.

The man is clearly not just a simple security guard. He is wearing a black tac vest with an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. The black bandana doesn’t protect his neck as Nicky slits his throat and lowers him silently to the ground.

Andy gives him a somewhat reproachful look, but Nicky feels no remorse for not waiting for her signal. They hide the body behind a stack of pallets and move on.

The closer they get to the ship, the clearer it is that something is happening inside. Nicky can hear shouting, clanging that funnels out of the open cargo hold and echoes against the massive metal hull. There are more armed men here, but they seem agitated, as if waiting for something or someone to come out of the ship.

Nicky feels a grim sort of hope unfurl in his chest. He doesn’t know if Joe is fighting back, or if their enemies have been alerted to their presence. Either way, he’s glad these men are frightened. 

Nile and Andy take out the security with three quick, silenced shots. Nicky is halfway up the gangplank before the last one hits the deck. Andy doesn’t bother calling after him.

He doesn’t see the gunman on the bridge deck until it’s too late. A bullet pierces his chest, just below his collarbone, and he rocks back from the force of it. His HK416 lands on the deck with a clatter, and Nile fires twice before the gunman falls. Andy grabs at Nicky’s waist, hauling him upright.

“C’mon, we gotta move.”

Nicky can only stagger with her as one of his lungs starts to fill with blood. He hacks when he tries to breathe, spits a dark wad of tissue on the metal floor, and manages to back against the only shipping container on the boat for cover. Clanking footfalls signal more people coming up from the cargo hold. Andy holds up her hand with her middle finger and thumb curled in: eight men.

Nile hands him back his gun, and he nods to her.

“Nile,” Andy says, bringing their attention around, “cut Nicky a path to the stairs. I’ll bring up the rear this time.”

“On my mark,” Nile barks, holstering her pistol and swinging the G36 from her back. “Two, one, mark!”

She rounds the edge of the container, and Nicky can hear men shouting in Portuguese just before Nile opens fire. He follows a beat after, running for the metal staircase that leads below deck. There are bullets flying now, a couple of bodies going limp just as Nicky reaches them.

Nile falls, then, too many shots to her torso to stay upright. Andy slides across the slick metal surface to cover her for the scant seconds it takes for Nile to rouse. Nicky hesitates only long enough to see that Andy doesn’t get hit, and then he’s at the top of the stairs.

The stairwell is precarious; the left wall is flat, riveted metal, and the right is open to the hold with just a single handrail between Nicky and a twenty foot fall. There are cages down there, tall industrial blocs meant to lock up and separate smaller freight boxes. From the small piles of cloth in vague bedding shapes, it seems like they’ve been converted for another use. There’s a narrow smear of something dark and shiny on the floor that Nicky can see even from this height.

He drops three stairs at a time until he reaches a height that won’t slow him down if he jumps. His landing causes a deep reverberation like a massive bell. He has lost all semblance of stealth, a fact that gives him some grim satisfaction. They will know he is coming, and there is nothing they will be able to do.

The smell down here is unmistakable, even if NIcky hadn’t had experience with these kinds of people before. It’s reminiscent of a barn, the residual stench of filth and sweat and damp, stale air. Once Joe is safe, once Nicky has made sure that each and every one of the traffickers on this boat is dead in a bloody pile, there will be a bigger trail to follow. For now, this section of the hold is empty, and he suspects the people holding Joe (and perhaps others) have fled further into the ship.

Nicky pauses just long enough to inspect the liquid on the floor. It’s a fresh, bloody drag mark that points him in the direction he needs to go. He sticks close to the metal cages and runs.

There is what appears to be a large office or some sort of control room at the far end of the hold with long, blacked out windows. They’re probably one-way windows, and if someone is inside, Nicky likely won’t know until the shooting starts. It’s possible there could be more captives in there as well. He takes his chances.

The door swings open when he’s only ten feet away, and he gets a glimpse of a rifle barrel just before a series of quick shots hit his torso. Pain leaches into his muscles and blood seeps into his shirt. The wounds aren’t severe enough to stop him, not with this new rush of adrenaline, and he barely registers the pain. He won’t return fire, not without knowing who else is in the room, so he drops the gun and pulls his sword.

 _“Uma espada?!”_ he hears a voice exclaim, then there’s more indistinct shouting. Someone is trying to shut the door, and Nicky has expended the last shred of his patience for this. He races up and kicks the door before it can latch, flinging the heavy slab of metal into someone’s body.

Inside, two men in suit pants and dress shirts are kneeling behind an overturned desk; one has a pistol and a grim expression while the other seems overwhelmed. Two other men dressed in ratty jungle fatigues armed with AKSes are near the door. Another man, similar to the ones in fatigues, is now wedged between the door and the wall. In the middle of all this, seated in the floor with his arms bound behind his back, is Joe.

Blood has matted in his curls and dripped down one shoulder. His shirt is ripped, and the knees of his pants are stained and shredded. The moment his eyes fall on Nicky, though, he grins.

They move at the same time. Joe rolls elegantly to his knees and then slams his body, less elegantly, into the overturned desk. The force knocks the two suits backward and the momentum of the desk pins them to the wall. The pistol slides across the floor, out of the man’s reach. 

Nicky thrusts his sword into the closest gunman’s abdomen, pulls out and spins on the ball of his planted foot to hack into the next man’s neck. The one trapped behind the door frees himself just in time to get Nicky’s elbow to the nose, and then his blade through the jaw. 

_“Mio eroe,”_ Joe says only a little sarcastically as Nicky helps him stand.

 _“Solo per te,”_ Nicky replies darkly. He picks up the stray handgun as the remaining traffickers struggle to get up, and he squeezes off two rapid headshots. They don’t even get a chance to beg.

“Are you okay?” he asks, cutting the nylon rope around Joe’s wrists.

Joe smiles at him and shakes out his hands, trying to get circulation back. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Nicky grabs his face in both hands and kisses him. Joe clearly expects it, is ready to accept everything Nicky is saying in that desperate, open press of mouths: _I was so scared_ and _I’m sorry I let them take you_ and _I love you, I love you, I love you._

When they part, Joe presses one last, firm, kiss to Nicky’s temple, and motions upward. “We need to go. They’ve got other prisoners somewhere on the boat.”

“I was afraid of that,” Nicky admits, handing Joe a knife and a discarded AKS. “I don’t know how many men will be left if Andy and Nile saw what I saw.”

Joe glances at the carnage surrounding them. “As if you left anyone for Andy and Nile to kill.”

“They took you away from me.” Nicky says simply and touches the line of congealed blood on Joe’s throat. Joe doesn’t have a clever retort.

They hurry back the way Nicky came, scooping up the HK he dropped in favor of his sword.

“We made some bad people very angry at Carnival,” Joe tells him as they mount the stairs.

“I noticed.”

“They thought my team had come to stop their slavery operation. I told them we hadn’t, but they’d brought trouble on themselves now.”

They reach the outside, and Nicky breathes in a lungful of cool, humid air that smells of gunpowder. The deck is littered with bodies and pools of dark blood that reflect the floodlights in a gruesome fashion, but Nile and Andy are nowhere to be seen.

Joe points across the ship. “Check the back hold. I’ll check the bridge.”

Nicky catches his hand and brings it to his lips. “We go together.”

“Nicolo,” Joe says fondly but with a hint of exasperation. “We need to find the others.”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

“Guys!”

The shout comes from behind them, and when they turn, Nile is standing on the gangplank. She’s drenched, soaked through with seawater and blood, and her expression is not amused. She motions for them to follow her.

“C’mon. While you two were fucking around downstairs, Andy and I finished some business.”

“I wasn’t fucking around. I was kidnapped,” Joe calls after her.

“Yeah, I’ve heard it before. Seems like you’re real good at that.” She’s walking away from them, disappearing from sight with the sharp angle of the ramp.

Joe gives Nicky a “can you believe this” kind of look, and it makes Nicky laugh. The tension releases from his body in that moment, like sand through an upturned hourglass, and he knocks his shoulder into Joe’s. 

They find Andy in the shipyard with a dozen or so women and girls who had clearly been held captive on the freighter. They look frightened, dirty, and some of them are injured. Now that Joe is safe and the immediate threat eliminated, Nicky can easily smile and set to work helping the victims.

If Joe hadn’t been abducted, they might never have known about these women. That ship could have left the dock in the morning, or in a week, and none of these people would have ever seen their families again. The thought brings Nicky no comfort, but it does solidify what he’s always believed: they’re here for a reason.

The comfort will come later, when he and Joe and Andy and Nile are tucked back into their apartment safehouse and can sleep easily for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me doing fan stuff on Tumblr as [ fled-is-that-music ](http://fled-is-that-music.tumblr.com) or screeching about politics on Twitter as [ jess_the_mac ](http://twitter.com/jess_the_mac).


End file.
